Love for Dummies
by Paratale
Summary: Francis thinks that if Arthur can just release some of that tension in the carnal fashion, he'll cheer up. As he attempts to find Arthur a friend-with-benefits, however, he grows less and less comfortable with the idea of Arthur being in a relationship- even if it's casual. Meanwhile, Arthur comes to some conclusions of his own. Rated T for... Belgium? FrUK. ON HIATUS INDEFINITELY
1. Chapter 1

"Why is it that everyone I know are such fools?" Arthur slurred, banging his glass down on the table after a particularly large gulp. "I don't fucking understand it! Like those bloody Italians, I'm sick of them, I can only put up with their childishness for so long, bloody tomatoes, whoop-de-doo and I don't give a flying fuck. And we simply can't forget about Ivan and his _ridiculous_ sisters, oh no, not with Natalia popping out of every opening like a fucking jack-in-the-box at the _most_ inopportune times..."

Francis looked on in mild amusement while Arthur ranted on about how much he hated everyone. The almost imperceptibly smaller man (a quarter of an inch difference in height, but Francis never missed an opportunity to lord the fraction over Arthur) gesticulated madly as he did so, green eyes flashing, eyebrows bobbing up and down as he made expressions of anger and exasperation.

"Bloody fucking hamburgers and heroes, that's all it ever is with Alfred, never anything about good old Arthur who_ practically raised _that stupid kid, not one word of thanks, not one!" Arthur took another swig of alcohol before continuing. "And my one _real _friend Kiku with his stupid crush, he's much too good for someone like Alfred; why does love turn people into such _fools? God, I hate my life!"_ Suddenly, the Brit appeared close to ears. Francis frowned. This was getting a little intense, even for someone like Arthur, who couldn't hold his liquor to save his best china.

"And you!" Arthur cried. "You... You..."

_Here we go, _Francis thought,_ bring on the usual choice insults_. But they didn't come. Arthur just stared at the Frenchman, cheeks pink, fiercely biting down on his lower lip to keep it from quivering.

"I..." He burst into tears, and Francis stared in shock. Of course he'd seen Arthur cry before during these drinking sessions (make that during practically _every_ drinking session- the man's eyes seemed to be able to hold more water than the fucking polar ice caps) but never quite like this. Arthur wasn't trying to hide it; burying his face from view with the table or simply crying into his hands. Nor was he screaming insults or lamentations between the sobs. His arms were at his sides as shoulders shook unabashedly, hot tears dripping down his cheeks and onto his knees.

"Come here, Arthur," Francis said firmly, wrapping an arm around his inebriated companion and forcing him to stand. Arthur responded by clinging to the Frenchman's shirt with both hands, still sobbing like an infant. "_Mon Dieu_," muttered Francis. "We're leaving." Arthur did not resist as Francis led him out of the bar and to his car.

"Get in the back seat," he commanded. _Wow, that sounded a great deal dirtier than I intended. Oh well, it is not as if he will notice._ As predicted, Arthur complied, but not before fastening his seat belt.

"S-Seat belt," he whimpered. Francis rolled his eyes. Leave it to Arthur to religiously follow all safety precautions even while drunk as a skunk.

"Whatever. Just try not to throw up on my car, _s'il vous plâit_."

Arthur calmed down a bit during the drive to Francis's house. Francis dared not take him to Arthur's own home, or drop him off in a hotel room- who knew what the drunk might do, given the state he was in? The last thing Francis needed was for Arthur to throw himself out a window on his watch. So he parked the car, pulled Arthur out, and led him into the house and up the stairs to the bedroom, placing him on his bed. Francis would pull in a sleeping bag and make sure Arthur didn't choke on his own vomit during the night.

But as he was about to leave the room, he was interrupted by a hand grabbing hold of his sleeve. He turned to see Arthur gripping the fabric like it was a lifeline, head bowed slightly, and green eyes upturned. They stared at one another for a few seconds, until Arthur suddenly reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and pulled Francis onto the bed and top of him, the haze in Arthur's eyes become more obvious to Francis as the green bored into his blue.

"Not now, _cher_," Francis whispered. "Not like this." A final tear dripped from the outermost corner of Arthur's left eye and slid to the bedsheets beneath his hair.

"Please?" He whispered. Francis pulled away. Arthur's hands fell limply to his sides as he stared blankly up at the ceiling. Francis had to manually arrange him so that his head was on the pillow. Just as stubborn intoxicated as he was sober, Francis noted with some amusement.

"I will hold you. Nothing more," he said, crawling into the bed beside Arthur and wrapping his arms around him; allowing Arthur's head to rest on his shoulder. Arthur murmured something, but Francis was too busy trying to make sure he would be able to extricate himself in the morning without waking Arthur.

If he had been listening closely, he might have heard something like, _I hate how I can never hate you_.

* * *

Arthur awoke the next morning with a splitting headache. He moaned slightly and rolled over, trying to block out the light from that stupid bay window.

Wait a fucking minute. Arthur's bedroom didn't have a bay window. _Oh, shit._ He shot bolt upright and stared around him. Blue walls, bay window, pure white lilies on the nightstand (oh, the irony). _Shit, shit, shit_. He threw himself out of the bed that most certainly did NOT belong to him and practically vaulted down the stairs, stumbling and sliding into the living room to find Francis nibbling on a croissant over a glass coffee table.

"You!" He screeched. Francis raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair.

"Me?"

"What happened last night?" Arthur questioned him, voice quivering slightly. Francis merely raised his eyebrows.

"Ah, you don't remember?" This was unfortunate. It would have been quite entertaining to see Arthur's reaction to his own behavior. "Well, rest assured I did not violate you in any way. Look- your clothes are even still on." Arthur looked down at himself, then breathed a sigh of relief, slumping onto a white couch on the other side of the table. Francis handed him a plate on which a fresh croissant sat steaming. Arthur grudgingly accepted the breakfast.

"Make yourself comfortable," Francis commanded. "We need to have a talk.

"About what?" Arthur glared. God, his head hurt.

"You were an utter disaster last night. Ranting, crying-" he decided now would not be the best time to go into the third activity. "The whole works. You are in a bad place, _mon cher lapin_," he said dramatically, adopting his best advice-giving pose.

"I'm just fine, thank you very much," Arthur asserted through gritted teeth, taking a bite out of the croissant. Damn it, why did it have to taste so good?

"Arthur, you are simply not. Last night you said you hated everyone, and your life. That is not a healthy attitude."

"I always say stuff like that after I've had a few drinks. I don't know what you're so worked up about."

"Look, I think I have a solution," Francis continued. "You need..." He paused for dramatic effect. "To get laid."

As one would expect, an awkward silence descended over the room. Arthur gawped at him, then stood up (making sure, of course, that the croissant was still in his hand).

"Thanks for the croissant. I'm leaving."

"Wait! I did not mean with me. I did not even mean have full-blown sex, necessarily! Although that would definitely be ideal." Arthur glowered at him in disbelief. "You simply need to find a willing partner you can love with when the mood strikes. It is good for your mental health. I will even assist you."

"HOW THE HELL IS CASUAL SEX GOOD FOR A PERSON'S HEALTH?" Arthur shouted. Francis winced.

"Like I said, it does not necessarily have to be sex... It could be a hand job, or-"

"YOU'RE INSANE." Francis swore he could feel the floor shake beneath his fluffy slippers.

"Look, Arthur," Francis said impatiently. "I know you like to read your deep love stories where the characters live happily ever after. I enjoy them as well- France is the country of _l'amour_, is it not? But that is not always the best solution for every situation. Plenty of us enjoy casual relationships in between the serious ones. It has been a long time for you, correct?" Arthur felt his ears growing red. Well, more red than they had been when he had been screaming at Francis.

"Doesn't mean I have to resort to this," Arthur muttered. "How do you know this is my so-called problem, anyway?"

"Experience. I have found that when it comes to most people, not getting enough loving just tends to be the problem," Francis shrugged. "It's the first thing I check for when someone I know is feeling down." Arthur growled.

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm just not as addicted to sex as the twats you know."

"Come now, Arthur, most of us take part in some casual fooling around on a regular basis. It is human nature. People like us may be... Unique, but we're not immune to the sweet calling of _l'amour_." Francis was looking more perverted by the second.

"Yeah, well, even if I were going to take you up on your offer to teach me- which I'm _not_- who the hell would I fool around with? There are only so many of us."

"Who said it had to be one of us?" Francis frowned. "There are plenty of normal people out there just waiting for you make love to them-"

"HELL. NO. I've seen what happens to people who mess around with civilians. I don't have to look any further than my brother for that." Arthur shook his head in disapproval. "Still hung up on some whoreish farm girl who's been buried for almost four centuries." Francis rolled his eyes.

"Fine, though it is going to be _très difficile_ for me to find you someone. You have been around long enough that we all know you just a little too well, I am afraid. But I could still do it, I bet you. And your brother is a fool," he muttered under his breath.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY ABOUT MY BROTHER?" Arthur made a motion to throw his plate at Francis, who ducked and managed to squeak out "_rien!"_

"And it doesn't matter anyway because _I'm not going to have casual sex!" _Arthur roared, dropping the plate.

"Fine. Then I'll just tell everyone everything you said about them last night." Francis smirked. Arthur gawked.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would do anything for _mon cher anglaise_." Arthur's face was beet red and he was practically shaking with anger. "And I will make sure that Ivan will be the first to kn-"

"Fine! You win! I'll play your stupid game!" He spat. "But not until I've had a good nap! I have the mother of all hangovers!" He then began to stomp back up the stairs.

"Uh, where are you going?" Francis asked.

"To your bed! I'm not riding the fucking train all the way home with this headache and you owe me at least this much!" Francis merely shrugged as he listened to the Brit's feet hit the floor in a constant rhythm.

"He really ought to have learned by now not to go out drinking _avec moi_ and then expect me _not _to have acquired blackmail material," Francis murmured to himself as he took another bite of his croissant.

* * *

AN: Hi! So I know this first chapter started out angsty, but the story is primarily intended to be humorous. Arthur is just a weepy drunk, lol. And of course Francis is his dramatic self. Anyway, I have a little more written out at the moment so I will be probably be able to update regularly for a little while before I run out of reserves. After that point, you can expect an update within 2-4 weeks, depending on the time of year. Rest assured, however, that I do finish most stories and I won't leave you hanging if I decide to discontinue this or put it on hiatus- I will put up a note. (And I probably won't continue on past 6-7 chapters unless some new ideas for the plot fall out of the sky, so I doubt finishing this will be a big issue. If I can't get it done before the end of September I'll work on it over Christmas break, because I'm going into my junior year at a difficult high school and I'm going to be one busy little motherfucker.)

A note on French: I study French at school, so I feel reasonably confident about making simplistic statements, but don't hesitate to correct me if I screw up here and there.

Also, this story is going to be pretty challenging to write because while I like the idea I came up with, I pretty much know nothing about people's normal sex habits. I don't know how common it is to have casual sex, friends-with-benefits type relationships and whatnot except for what I see on TV :P (You will come to see that I am very Kiku-like.) I myself have never had a romantic or sexual relationship or any sort. So those of you who get out of the house a little more- if things start getting weird or really out of sync with reality, feel free to let me know in a review XD They don't teach us about this in health class... I'm a science geek anyhow, so this is not my area of expertise... Also, do keep in mind that Francis thinks making love is a passable answer to almost everything, so his ideas about Arthur's inner turmoil probably differ from yours. They certainly differ from mine. ^^;

Lastly, also on the topic of sex- there will be no lemons or explicit material in this fanfiction, but there may be one heterosexual almost-lime. That's about as sexy as this is going to get. Sorry to those of you who might have been hoping for something more XD

Other pairings may appear or be mentioned from time to time, they will likely be of the AmeriPan, RoChu or GerIta variety. However, they will _probably_ not play a big role so please don't be put off if you're not a fan of these particular ships!

Gah, that was long. Thanks for reading, and please tell me your thoughts! As per usual, I don't tend to reply to reviews if I can't think of anything to say except "Thanks!", but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate you, so I give you all a huge THANK YOU! in advance for reviewing :3

UPDATE 8/06/2012: Renovated and improved!


	2. Chapter 2

"Now, we shall begin with the simplest step," Francis said as he stood in front of Arthur in the bathroom the next morning. "Your looks."

Arthur went a little pink. Did Francis just pay him a compliment by saying fixing up his looks was going to be the simplest part of the process?

"And before you start to thinking that I am paying you a compliment, I only say it is simple because improving your personality is going to be so much more labor intensive." Arthur growled and rolled his eyes. The ceiling was a pretty shade of off-white today. Good thing it was pleasant, because he had a feeling he would be spending quite a bit of time looking at it in the coming days spent at Francis's house.

"Let's see, now..." Francis stepped back and began to scrutinize the Brit's appearance. Arthur fought back a wave of self-consciousness as the other man's eyes swept over him. They were standing in Francis's lavish bathroom, with all the necessary tools laid out on one of the many shelves. Arthur repressed the urge to snort derisively. Who the hell needed this many shelves in their _bathroom? _

Oops. As it happened, he was unable to keep himself from letting out that derisive snort. Francis glared at him briefly.

"Well, I suppose I will just start with the good points you already possess. _Première_, you have very pleasing eyes." Arthur felt himself go slightly pink again. Why did this keep happening to him? _Bother_. "You ought to wear more clothes that accentuate that shade of green. Though I strongly recommend plucking those abominable-"

"_Don't go there_," Arthur hissed.

"Moving on. Your figure is a little meager, though some like that _mince_ look. I think a few extra visits to the gym and improved cooking skills would probably help,_ non_?"

"I'm not going to a bloody gym, frog," Arthur asserted, but he was blushing a little more. "Especially not with _you_."

"Hm." Then, as if to prove Arthur's last point, Francis continued with "However, I should add that your ass is as fine as always- ah!" Arthur slapped him in the face, leaving a bright pink mark. "_D'accord, d'accord_... I will move on. Now, since it is apparently impossible for you to grow out your hair without looking like a homeless schizophrenic, we will be forced to settle for the cut you have now. Which is, incidentally, the same cut you have had for something like a thousand years, is it not?" He teased.

"Oh, do shut up. You're the one who said it was suited to me," Arthur muttered.

"In any case I really think you would benefit from a little gel..." Francis grabbed a lime green bottle off of one of those stupid shelves and squeezed a a blob of the clear, sticky substance onto his palm. "_Assied-toi, s'il vous plâit_," he said, gesturing for Arthur to sit down on a stool in front of the large, seashell-encrusted mirror. Arthur huffed quietly at the use of French, but complied.

"Don't make it too obvious," he grumbled. "I don't want people to start thinking I'm taking advice from a git like you."

"Just sit still," Francis said impatiently, biting back a snippy "though they would right". He then began to comb his hands through Arthur's blond hair, massaging in the gel. Caught off guard, Arthur bit his lip, barely managing to suppress a sigh of pleasure. He wanted to slap himself for it, but he couldn't deny that the feeling of Francis's hands running through his hair was really... it wasn't bad.

Not bad at all.

Still, it wasn't like he was _enjoying_ it or anything. It had just happened to exceed his expectations this one time. (_Not_ that he'd thought about it or expected anything of the sort to occur, anyhow.) If Francis ever did it again he would be sure to puncture Arthur's scalp with one of those ridiculously long fingernails or do something equally twat-ish. Definitely. Maybe he was about to do just that even now-

"All done!" Francis proclaimed. Arthur snapped out of his trance when his stool was whirled around to face the mirror.

He had to admit, his hair did look nicer. It lay flatter now, and though there were still bits and pieces that stood up from the rest, they now appeared tasteful in a whimsical sort of way, instead of haphazard as they had before. Arthur blinked at his reflection, mildly surprised.

"You like it?" Francis asked, the annoyingly proud smile on his face reflecting back at Arthur in the mirror. Arthur shrugged, feigning disinterest. Surely he could do this on his own- without all the silly gel- if he invested in a better comb or something, right?

"It's... fine."

"Of course it is. I am a genius." Francis laughed to himself and began to wash the gel from his hands in the nearby sink. Arthur rolled his eyes. "We will do this again before you go out to find a willing victim. But if you wish to do it on your own time- which I _highly_ recommend- it is not so difficult, even for someone like you. Merely use the gel to flatten down the ungainly bits, and that should be sufficient." He shook the water off his hands and dried them on a nearby towel. "Now we must buy you some new clothes!"

"_WHAT_?"

* * *

It took literally six hours for the two of them to find just three new outfits that they both agreed were acceptable. By the end of the expedition, which involved trudging through countless malls and plazas (French, of course- which made it all even worse) while Francis yammered on incessantly, Arthur was utterly worn out and exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to toss his purchases in the bloody washing machine, hit "start" and then crawl off to bed. (Francis, of course, seemed to have been something like _rejuvenated_ by the bout of shopping and had a spring in his step).

In Arthur's shopping bags were two new pairs of sleek black slacks, a pair of jeans, a dark green long-sleeve, a hooded dark blue sweat shirt and a white button down. There was also a pair of black sneakers.

The jeans had been by far the most inconvenient item to shop for. Arthur himself disliked most denim, but Francis had insisted that he simply_ must _have good jeans, dragging him from store to store until he finally found a decent pair. The worst part was that every time Arthur had to try something on, Francis would motion for him to turn around so he could get a good look at his rear.

"But it is the most important thing for a pair of jeans," he would say whenever Arthur chastised him. Arthur would glare, and grudgingly turn around. Then, after he was done with trying on the jeans and was leaving the changing room, he would making a point of throwing them in Francis's smirking face.

The two of them bickered continuously over what style the jeans ought to be. Francis seemed to think the very definition of jeans was skinny and low riding. Arthur preferred straight jeans that didn't feel like they were about to fall right off of him, thank you very much. Francis liked "artful" rips and tears. Arthur couldn't comprehend why anyone would pay for damaged clothing. (He kind of like the idea of tearing them up _after_ buying them, though.)

The white button down, too, had been the subject of much contention. Arthur had been reluctant to buy one because he already owned plenty, but Francis had insisted that none of the white shirts in Arthur's closet were the right style or fit, much to Arthur's indignation. ("What, you think I don't know my own shirt size, frog?") But finally they had been able to find a shirt that fit Francis's standards and didn't make Arthur want to crawl into a hole and die (maybe just crawl into the hole and not die). It was, predictably; somewhat more form-fitting than Arthur's other shirts, and was made of an airier material.

The only item Arthur had actually felt pretty good about buying was the blue sweatshirt. It was soft and warm, and he liked the color. It reminded him of the blue on the British flag. When he had tried it on, Francis had looked at him pensively for a few moments, then reached over to adjust the sleeves and the neck, his fingers brushing Arthur's cheek when he pulled away; satisfied. Arthur had felt his ears grow inexplicably hot again at the contact.

"That is a nice color_ pour toi_."

Arthur was snapped out of his reverie when Francis's car pulled up outside Arthur's home. Night was falling, and a few stars were beginning to shine through the sea of light above the city.

"_Bon soir, mon lapin_," Francis said. "I will give you a call in a day or two about our next move. We shall then work on your attitude." Arthur rubbed his forehead.

"Why the hell did I agree to this again?"

"Because if you do not work with me on this, I am going to-"

"Alright, alright!" Arthur yelled in exasperation, before roughly dragging his shopping bags out of the car and storming up the walk to his front door. Francis tsk'd, shaking his head as he watched the increasingly irritable Brit fumble with his keys.

"_Qu'est-ce qu'il ferait sans_ _moi_?" He asked the universe as he drove away.

AN:

Translation: What would he do without me? (This may be wrong lol)

Well, there you are! Second chapter! I've been trying to get into the habit of making my chapters a bit longer, since it annoys me when I'm reading a fic and the author only updates in these irritating little tidbits, but this seemed like the natural place to end the chapter. And since this chapter is short, I'll try to put up the next one in just a few days.

One thing I'm not entirely sure about... Are ripped jeans a thing in France or is that just something us crazy Americans like? I myself am not a big fan of "destructed" jeans, but I see them *everywhere* so I assume there are probably at least some styles like that in France? If anyone reading this knows the answer, please tell me! XD

Also, please don't hesitate to tell me if you found Francis's "homeless schizophrenic" hair comment offensive. I will gladly remove it. I respect schizophrenics. ;-; (I really do!) It just kind of popped out while I was writing this and I couldn't think of anything else. XD

And finally, **Avi W. Lovegood**: Avec does mean with, though I can definitely see why you would confuse it with 'have' since it looks similiar to avez, avons, and avoir, which are various forms of the verb 'have'. Also, the use of 'anglaise' was intentional. Francis is saying 'my dear English(man)' :3 Thanks for reviewing!

On a random note HIGGS BOSON ASDFGHJKL;'''

UPDATED: 8/06/2012


	3. Chapter 3

"Lesson One: Posture."

"I don't need any help with my posture," Arthur said with a frown. "I always sit up straight, and I don't have duck feet."

"You see, _cher_, that is part of the issue- the sitting up straight part, I mean. You always look so uptight. We need to loosen you up a little, get you more relaxed..."

"I thought that was the whole reason why we're even doing this in the first place," Arthur protested.

"Well, you must at least look the part in the meantime." Francis motioned for Arthur to have a seat. They were at Arthur's house this time, in his living room; a neatly kept area where there was a plain wooden coffee table, a large green sofa and many, many bookshelves. (And this wasn't even the library. He had a whole separate chamber for that.) Arthur plopped down on the couch, crossing his legs and sitting up straight, as usual.

"Now try to look relaxed," Francis said. Arthur complied, and Francis stared at him briefly before doubling over with laughter.

"What?" Arthur yelled.

"It is only that... _Mon Dieu_..." Francis wiped a tear from his eye. "You look as though you drank five pints and then was hit over the head with one of Alfred's baseball bats. In that order." Arthur sputtered indignantly, and Francis reached towards him. "Here, allow _moi_-"

"Get away from me, frog!" Arthur yelped, rolling out of Francis's path with the reflexes of one who has dodged many, many advances from this particular Frenchman over the years. Francis's fingers grasped empty air, and now had both hands holding on to the top of the sofa, where he had expected Arthur's shoulders to be.

"I was only going to adjust your position on the sofa, cher," he said with a pout, feigning hurt feelings. "You need not be so jumpy."

"Need not be so jumpy, my arse," Arthur replied, not falling for the act. A smirk grew on Francis's face.

"If this is how you wish to play it, Arthur..."

Arthur hopped off the couch as Francis lunged towards him again and stood behind the coffee table, staring down his pursuer. Then- he wasn't sure who was the first man to start running, but it was irrelevent now- he made a break for it, dashing across the room and weaving in between two of the larger bookcases. Francis took off after him, not to be outdone. Arthur was unable to supress a bark of laughter as the two of them began a lively game of cat and mouse throughout the living room. They circled the perimeter of the room twice, with Arthur dodging out of Francis's reach every time the Frenchman extended a hand. Then Arthur quit the living room altogether and scurried into the hallway. He rounded the corner quickly and ran up the stairs three at a time, managing to lose Francis for a few seconds.

Arthur stood at the top of the staircase, snickering, slightly out of breath; until Francis appeared at the bottom. Then, with what was most definitely _not_ a giggle, he turned and started running in a random direction, Francis now hot on his tail. Accidentally- yes, most definitely _on accident_- Arthur swerved into the bedroom, and found he was at a dead end. He whirled around just in time to see Francis standing in the doorway, looking awfully pleased with himself.

"I have caught up with you, _mon lapin_!" He stated, advancing forward, slowly at first; then swiftly picking up speed until he was at a fast jog. Arthur, unable to think clearly now, took one too many steps back and collapsed backwards onto the deep blue sheets atop his bed. He squeaked a little in surprise as Francis barrelled into him, knocking him onto his back and pinning him down by the arms.

There was a silence as the two of them began to actually consider the position they were in. In Arthur's bedroom. On the bed. And it was still a mystery to Arthur why he had deigned to participate in this small homage to their younger days. He gave a businesslike cough, shifting beneath Francis's grip.

"I, er... perhaps we should get back to work."

"_Bon ideé_," Francis agreed, releasing the Brit and proceeding back to the living room.

Both feeling equally awkward about what had just occurred between them, the Brit and the Frenchman continued with their lesson on posture. Arthur allowed Francis to poke and prod him into various stances of relaxation, and nothing more was said about it. Then Francis went home, and Arthur was left sitting on his sofa, pondering.

Arthur had not intended to initiate a game of chase. He had simply acted out of habit. Then, when Francis reached for him a second time, he had dodged again, and again, and before either of them knew it they were dashing and staggering about the English living room like a pair of schoolchildren at recess.

Then the whole thing became quite a bit less like innocent playground games when Arthur found himself in a compromising position in his bedroom. That in itself was strange enough. But the really disturbing part, Arthur thought, was that Francis seemed to have felt just as awkward about it at Arthur. When Arthur had come to his senses, he had prepared himself he was about to hear a string of lewd comments and euphemisms from the usually obscene Frenchman above him, but he had been silent; an almost... _apologetic_ look staining his usually shameless features.

It was bizarre.

Arthur scowled. This sort of thing was not his area of expertise, and he had no idea how he ought to read the situation._ I shouldn't even be thinking so hard about this, _he thought to himself. _It means nothing, anyhow. You can't hang around people like Francis and not run into awkward situations. And you certainly can't invite them into your home and expect not to find yourself in the bedroom for no apparent reason_. With that final self-reassurance, he got up to make himself a cup of tea.

* * *

Two days later, Arthur visited Francis's house to 'work on his attitude and general social skills', as Francis put it.

"Your problem, _mon petit lapin_, is that you do not give adequate responses to what the other person has to say if it is not something you are interested in," Francis said, sipping his coffee. They were seated in the same room where Arthur had first agreed to undertake this operation.

"Why would I?" Arthur asked as he leaned back against a pale blue armchair, perplexed. "If we're not both interested in something, why discuss it?"

"Oh, Arthur," Francis sighed with a shake of his head. "You are so, so socially inept. No wonder you do not have friends."

"I have friends!" Arthur bristled. "I'm friends with Kiku! And Radu and I go out drinking sometimes! And I'm at the very least on _friendly terms _with most everyone!"

"Fine, you have possibly two friends, maybe one or two more," Francis relented with a roll of his eyes. "And then there is Alfred, your brother figure. And..." He paused. The conversation had suddenly commanded the men to put a label on their relationship, and it was making both of them highly uncomfortable. "Anyway, we are getting away from the point. If you wish for someone to like you, you must at least_ pretend _to be interested in most of what they say. At first, anyway- over time, you may become more... how shall I say?... _Frank_ about your interests. However, Kiku probably has the same mindset as you about such things- though I imagine he is too polite to ignore someone the way you do at times-and that is why _petit _Kiku and yourself are such good friends." Arthur looked down, a bit embarrassed. As much as it made him want to break something to admit it, what Francis said had made sense.

"I guess not everyone is practical-minded like I am," Arthur retorted, recovering himself.

"You just keep telling yourself that, _cher_," Francis said kindly. "Now, we move on to your little problem of language."

"Oh, please," Arthur spat.

"Now, hear me out," said Francis. "A few curses sprinkled here and there is average, and may perhaps even help your case, depending on what type of lady or gentleman you are speaking with. But you cannot start out swearing like the sailor you are."

Arthur rolled his eyes at him. "I don't 'start out swearing.' I'll have you know that I am the epitome of politeness when I'm meeting people." He shook his head. "I only curse around people I know pretty well already. And I curse even more when I'm with you... because you're a bloody git." Arthur suddenly felt that he had revealed something, but couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was. "You can't assume that the responses your idiocy triggers in people show their personality."

"Hmm..." Francis frowned, then shrugged. "I suppose that may be true. Let us continue, then- I need to show you some seduction techniques. Should I begin with women or men?" His face returned to its usual sly grin. Arthur groaned.

"Fine, then, let's get it over with. And... I don't know, women, I suppose."

"You see, Arthur," said Francis, rising from his seat on the couch and adopting a dramatic stance. "A... shall we say... one size fits all, basic strategy is as so: when you are speaking _avec une fille_-"

"No French."

"..._Merde_."

"That was bloody French."

"Moving on. When you are speaking with a_ lady_, you must start by making her feel special, as though you have just found a jewel of woman in a crowd of terribly ordinary people. Therefore, you must express great interest in everything about her. Widen your eyes when she speaks as though her words have brought you to an epiphany..."

Arthur fought back the urge to smash his own head through the coffee table. Or Francis's. Whichever would make the pain stop faster.

"...And then when you have been talking for a while, touch her gently in some way. Women adore light touches. Pair that with some flattering information about you- be sure it's something she will like- and she will be throwing herself at you in no time at all. Simple." Francis smiled dreamily for a few a seconds. "I should note that it is nearly the same for men, as well, though there are a few differences which I shall cover at a later date. And of course, this is the technique _I_ prefer to use, meaning it will probably not work for you, so I came up with a play especially suited to your personality. On your feet!"

He suddenly grabbed Arthur by both wrists and pulled him up off of the couch. "I call it, the Bashful Bachelor!"

"God, that's awful," Arthur whined, yanking his arms free. "Please never alliterate again." Francis ignored him.

"Many enjoy those who appear a bit stuffy, as you do- though not _too_ stuffy, you must remember that- but have an obvious soft spot for romance. So the key thing is to blush at opportune moments, stutter a little... But not _too_ much, because that is simply irritating-"

"So, in short, you want me to act like a bloody schoolgirl," Arthur deadpanned.

"Not necessarily. This requires more finesse than that, since you really must get the right balance. But if you want to, I certainly would not mind a bit of-"

"Just keep going."`

"So when you first meet, you ought to be crisp and businesslike, as you usually are. Then, begin your conversation with some cultured smalltalk, and gradually lead the lady to more amorous musings. As I said, blush, pull on your tie, avoid her gaze, shuffle your feet... All the usual things you do anyway. She will find it simply adorable and will usually offer herself to you without any awkward, ah, _requests _your part."

"I do not- what do you mean, 'all the usual things' I do?" Arthur questioned indignantly, stiffening.

"Arthur, you blush at the drop of a hat. And I am honestly surprised that your ties do not hang to your knees. Trust me, it is adorable to watch."

"Yeah, well. At least I _wear _ties. Unlike you." Arthur mumbled lamely.

"But no matter how well you know the technique, it will not work if you cannot affect the proper body language. You must let it show with your body that you want her. If you are conveying nervousness, raise your shoulders a little. If you are acting embarrassed, lower your head. When you want to show confidence, separate your legs a little, lift your chin and straighten your back, like so." He assumed a confident pose for Arthur. "_Et_, whatever you do, never cross your arms. It will make you appear closed to her. You want to look as wide open and available as possible. And point both your feet in her direction- if you point a foot away, it looks as though you wish to leave. _Comprends-toi?"_

"Well, you just threw about fifty different things I need to remember at me, so I may not have absorbed it all," Arthur said dryly, crossing his arms. "But I think I understand what you're getting at."

"Ah, yes. That is why you are going to practice _avec moi_."

"WHAT? No, no I am most certainly n-"

"Hello, Arthur," Francis said, cutting off Arthur's protest. "I have not seen you for some time. How have you been?"

"I've been fine," Arthur muttered. An awkward silence ensued. Francis raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, go on. It's still your turn, _cher_."

"Er... Nice weather we're having, eh?" Arthur said lamely. In the ensuing pause, a heavy rain could be heard pounding hard against the roof. Francis facepalmed, thinking for a couple of seconds before responding.

"Is this what it's like in England most of the time, then?"

"I suppose," Arthur replied. Francis raised his eyebrow again. "So! Er..." Arthur bent his head a little bit with the air of a child clumsily mimicking the movements of his teacher. "Your words have brought me to an epiphany." As a bit of an afterthought, he gave his tie a tug.

It was Francis's turn to want to smash his head through a table.

* * *

After Francis had left, Arthur called Kiku to complain.

"...So then the bloody frog blackmailed me into letting him help me 'release tension', as he put it," he finished angrily.

"Ah, Arthur-kun, do not take this the wrong way, but perhaps it might be wise not to go out drinking with Francis-san," Kiku said tentatively. Arthur sighed, the sound causing Kiku to hear a slight crackling in the phone line.

"I know. You are absolutely right. I just don't trust myself to go alone, for obvious reasons, and I know you don't like bars much."

"But what about Alfred-kun? Or Antonio-san, perhaps? Or... Who was it you mentioned... Radu-san?" Kiku continued.

"I..." There was a long pause. Kiku wondered if Arthur was still on the line.

"I'm not really sure why I go to bars with Francis," Arthur admitted lamely, just as Kiku was about to check his phone to make sure it hadn't died.

"Ah. But I suppose you and Francis-san must be very close," Kiku mused. Arthur made a little noise of surprise.

"How exactly are we 'close'?" He sputtered indignantly.

"Well, you have known each other for so many years," Kiku said thoughtfully. "You must know a lot about each other, because of how often you used to fight. And you grew up together, correct?"

"Well, that doesn't mean we're_ friends_," Arthur huffed.

"It is hard to know so many things about a person and not at least be friends, Arthur-kun. And if you are only enemies, why spend so much time together when you do not have to? If you are not friends, and you are not enemies, then I am not really sure what to call you..."

Arthur found himself speechless for the second time over the course of the conversation.

* * *

The next day, Francis started making phone calls of his own. During the conversations he had with the recipients of the calls, he was careful not bring up the fact that he was looking for someone for Arthur to fool around with- at this point, he was just sizing up the sample. Arthur had said he "didn't give a rat's arse" about genders, so at least that meant Francis wouldn't have to sort through only the disproportionately few girls.

He had to find people that Arthur didn't know very well, but at the same time wasn't a complete stranger to. If he tried to hook him up with, say, Yao, Arthur would get weird and say that it would "make things awkward" between them and "affect the friendly relationship too much". And Francis had to admit that screwing around with one's friends was a bad idea (especially if said friends had been the subject of overprotective Russian stalking for years). Still, he didn't know why Arthur always had to be such a scrooge about these things. Francis was only trying to spread _l'amour_, that was all!

Sighing dramatically, he gave himself a quick spin around in his brand new desk chair and surveyed his very short list of candidates, frowning a little. He was fairly sure that with a bit of convincing, and the appeal of Arthur's 'renovations'; courtesy of Francis, everyone on the list would get along fine with Arthur. But somehow, it didn't feel quite right. Francis just didn't think they were really suited to Arthur- the thought of any one of them with the Englishman made him want flinch a little in discomfort. Strange. He shook his head slightly to clear it, then reached for the phone.

"Arthur? I am bringing you to a party tomorrow night."

* * *

A/N:

Nyerrrrghhh I don't know if I did a good job in this chapter ;_; I feel I might have failed at being funny. And I wish I could think of more stuff for Arthur to say while fake-flirting to Francis, but uh... Yeah. I may add on to it later if creativity strikes. Or you can review with suggestions and I shall credit you, that might be fun~

I do love AsaKiku friendship :D they're just so sweet ahhhh

By the way, Radu=Romania. I read something about how he and Arthur belong to the same black magic club, or something.

The chase scene kind of just... wrote itself in. I don't know. It's kinda weird.

...Stuff goes down next chapter ;D

THANKS FOR ALL THE LOVELY REVIEWS~~! :D:D


	4. Chapter 4

"I hate this," Arthur grumbled. "I hardly know anyone here."

"But that is the point," Francis protested. "You said, and I quote: 'I refuse to do... things... with someone I actually talk to.' You blushed quite fantastically as you made this statement, I would like to add-"

"Shut. Up."

"Anyway," Francis continued. "Your hair is gelled. You are wearing your _nouveaux _clothing. We have patched up your attitude as best we can, and I think I even saw some improvement in your conversation skills. Now let us go socialize!"

"Good grief," Arthur muttered as he followed Francis into the crowd.

It did not take long for Francis to identify a small gaggle of single girls standing around the large glass punch bowl. Mona, Katya, Bella, and Elizabeta waved and smiled at the them as they approached.

"Hello, Arthur and Francis," Elizabeta said, a look vaguely reminiscent of Francis himself creeping onto her face as she noted the two of them together. (This microexpression, of course, went straight over Arthur's head and was thus of no use to him. Francis didn't notice because Elizabeta was wearing a rather low cut dress that night.)

"Ladies," Francis said with a bow. Arthur stood by and tried not to look too awkward. He settled on placing his hands behind his back and standing up straight in a dignified sort of way, remembering what Francis had said about being businesslike.

"Ah, Arthur! You came to one of big brother's parties! I never see you around here," Bella said jovially, shaking Arthur's hand in a rather vigorous fashion and giving him a wide smile. Still adhering to Francis's teachings, Arthur smiled politely and gave a curt nod. Maybe he was getting a little better at it, now that the person he was talking to wasn't Francis; who had for many years been an expert on making Arthur feel... well, strange. And less than businesslike. Katya appeared too shy to say anything, and Mona merely sipped her punch, looking something like a cross between bored and uncomfortable.

"Ah, well, you see..." Arthur searched for something to say. "It's just that I'm usually very busy, and I'm not so good at parties anyway," he said, affecting a slightly embarrassed expression in concordance with Francis's teachings. He gave his tie a tug for good measure.

"So you're one of those, eh? No matter, we don't bite around here," said Bella, clapping him on the shoulder. _Seems to be working well so far_, Arthur thought. Elizabeta shot Bella a look that said, What in the name of all that is good and mansexy are you doing?! but Bella did not pick up on it. Arthur smiled a little.

"So, how have you _belle filles _been getting along recently?" Francis inquired, directing his speech at the remaining three girls, automatically uniting Bella and Arthur in a category subconciously separate from the others. He stomped on Arthur's little toe as he shifted, as though that would somehow convey to Arthur that it was his time to shine. Arthur bit a back a wince.

"Anyhow, Arthur," Bella continued as Francis attempted to chat up an unresponsive Katya while shooting sidelong glances at Arthur and Bella, "I haven't gotten a chance to speak with for quite some time! How have you been?"

"Oh, personally I'm not bad, though a little overworked at times. And as a country, I've been getting along, though things could certainly be better." Bella nodded in understanding.

"Me too. I can't complain. I must say, I'm a little surprised to see you with Francis at a party! I thought you didn't like each other," she mused.

"Ah, well, we don't. 'Don't like each other' is a bit of understatement, actually. But we have our good times, I guess," Arthur said sheepishly, pulling on his tie again (this time unwittingly). "He likes to bother me." The embarrassed expression, like the tie-pulling; did not have to be especially affected this time. Bella laughed.

"Come away with me, then; I'll show you where all the fries are."

* * *

Despite trying very hard to enjoy the party, Francis was not having fun. After Arthur and Bella not-so-mysteriously vanished (something he was also trying very hard to be happy about), he hit on Katya and then Roderich a few times, but could parse no entertainment from the activity and was starting to get some very disturbing looks from Ivan and Elizabeta. Now he had a large brother with a pipe and an ex-wife with a frying pan staring him down from across the room. _Fantastique_.

He looked at his watch. 11:58 pm- much too soon to leave; it would seem weird. He'd have to stick it out until 12:30 am at the very least. And oh,_ merde_, he was supposed to give Arthur a ride home from the party, and if Arthur was otherwise engaged... It could be that Francis had a lot of time to burn. Sighing a little, he began to walk up the stairs, recalling that Mona had mentioned something about there being a library there; and reveling in the irony that he was the one going to sit by himself in the quiet while Arthur was busy answering the call of l'amour in another room.

The thought was making him rather irritated, to be perfectly honest. He knew he was supposed to feel happy right now, since his _cher _apprentice was doing so (frankly: unexpectedly) well. But when Francis pictured Arthur and Bella together in that other room, pressed together, trading kisses, and perhaps Bella was gently caressing Arthur's blond hair that Francis had just gelled not two hours ago, then climbing on top of him...

(And no, it did not even occurr to him that it was most likely the other way around.)

_I must simply be a little jealous that Arthur is with a pretty woman tonight and I am alone_. _Mauvais esprit sportif, _he chided himself.

(You know a crush must be difficult to accept when the representative of the Country of Love appears quite nearly blind to it.)

* * *

Arthur and Bella spent an hour making pleasant small talk (not, as Francis had hypothesized, making out) and watching some of Bella's friends get a little bit too drunk and make fools out of themselves. (Arthur abstained from alcohol on Francis's request.) Then, to Arthur's great surprise, Bella asked him out, and he said yes.

Bella really was nice. She was intelligent, opinionated, witty, and very pretty. And, as a huge plus, she was quite, well,_ sane, _and refrained from getting riotously drunk (though she perpetually sipped beer throughout the evening) or snickering a bit too much. She liked talking to Arthur about things like politics and literate. (She also liked beer, waffles, and fries. She liked those a_ lot_.) She did not make fun of Arthur's eyebrows or his mannerisms or his inability to cook, and in return Arthur could not make fun of her slightly odd-sounding laugh, her association with fries or the explicit content of her conversations with Elizabeta.

It was around 1:00 in the morning when Arthur bid goodbye to Bella. Feeling rather pleased with his success, he smoothed down his hair a little and tightened his tie as he re-entered the center of the party in search of Francis.

Everyone looked significantly more wasted than they had an hour ago. Arthur made his way around a couch that he was pretty sure had not been there before, turned a corner near a massive beanbag chair, hurried around Alfred and Winona (Winona was lecturing her younger brother again) and ducked as Gilbert and Bella's older brother decided to start throwing small items at one another from opposite ends of the room. Finally, Arthur found Francis in the kitchen, sitting on the counter and reading from what appeared to be a randomly selected cookbook.

"What the hell are you doing in here? Shouldn't you be out there throwing things with Gilbert, or something?" Francis looked up in surprise. Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Arthur, _mon petit lapin_! Nice work! _Super_!" He grinned, hopping off the counter and slapping the Brit on the back. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"I suppose it did go pretty well, especially being the first try and all." Arthur could not help but feel a little proud to have been so successful, even if the whole thing was bollocks.

"But did you have sex?" Francis asked, looking mildly surprised.

"No!" Arthur yelped, stepping back angrily. "Of course not! We were just talking, you pervert! But she did ask me out," he said smugly.

"All in good time, then," Francis said lightly. "All in good time. Now, I am going to take your suggestion and go join Gilbert in his throwing of trinkets." He was suddenly feeling quite a bit more like partying.

"And you couldn't have had your fun while I was having an _intelligent_ conversation with Bella?" Arthur shouted after him. He was ignored.

Seconds later, Winona appeared, yanking Alfred through the kitchen past Arthur. "Oh, hello, Arthur," she said politely, before shoving her protesting brother out the front door.

"I keep telling you, you have to get drunk for it to be fun!" Alfred yelped.

Arthur didn't even want to know at this point.

* * *

Francis was starting to feel pretty weird about the whole get-Arthur-laid plan.

He told himself it was only because Arthur was such an adorable specimen that Francis was having some difficulty sharing him with the world. Arthur was like a super shiny coin- you kind of don't want to spend it simply because just looks so nice in your purse.

Of course Francis wasn't getting_ jealous_, or anything like that. He was just having trouble parting with his shiny coin. He enjoyed flirting with Arthur, and if Arthur entered a relationship, he wouldn't necessarily be able to do that anymore; making Francis's life quite a bit duller. _Je saurais si j'etais jaloux_, he thought. _Je suis un autorité en matière de ces choses_.

Francis had to admit, though, that while he was the best person to go to for anything involving matchmaking with _other people _(or sex advice, naturally), he himself had had few long-term relationships. (Though he was still much more experienced than a lot of people he knew.) Francis thought of himself as someone who was hard to tie down, and preferred to 'spread _l'amour_', as he often referred to it. He definitely wasn't opposed to 'serious' relationships, but he preferred to see them happen with other people, at least for now. And, well, other people thought of him as a bit of a manwhore, to put it quite frankly. (That wasn't to say he would necessarily _sleep_ with just anyone- but he would certainly put the moves on them.)

If he'd allowed himself to give the matter more thought, Francis might also have admitted that Arthur was a decidedly unusual and difficult case.

* * *

After the party, four days went by and Arthur did not see Francis at all. Normally this wouldn't have been an unusual occurrence at all- yes, Francis did like to drop in and torment Arthur for no apparent reason, and on occasion they would go out to a bar or attend the same event or end up in a shouting match during a phone call originally intended for discussing some dry business matter; but they each had things to do. Other events to attend, other phone calls to make. Besides, the two _were_ locked in constant rivalry with one another, so why would they put effort into making time for them to catch up? You only make time for people you actually_ like_.

But after seeing Francis nearly every other day for a while, Arthur found it sort of... _odd_ not to be spending so much time with the French twat. He would find himself wondering what Francis was doing at that moment, and then he would glance at the phone as if expecting a call. And whenever he managed to cause perfectly edible ingredients to become decidedly_ inedible_ simply by putting them in an oven or on a stove (or even in a toaster- but that's another story), somewhere in the back of his mind he would wonder what Francis might have to say about it, and what he himself might say in return; and pretty soon there was an entire hypothetical conversation (or bickering session, as the case may be) happening inside his head; tucked away in the suburbs of Arthur's cerebrum.

Not that any of this was really new. In fact, the phone-staring (previously known as mailbox-staring and even before that horses-on-the-road-in-front-of-the-castle-staring), the hypothetical-conversation/argument/shouting match-producing and numerous other irritating little things had been going on for nearly a millennium now. Sure, these were odd habits, but what was Arthur supposed to make of them? What could they even mean? So for lack of a better approach, Arthur usually dismissed the habits as meaningless and carried on with business as usual.

What _was_ fairly new- new meaning within past two centuries or so- was the steadily increasing amplitude and frequency of Arthur's random thoughts about Francis. It was as if a part of Arthur's brain was saying to the rest, _I've been pumping out clues like this for longer than any normal person has ever been alive and I seriously can't believe you're being so bloody slow, but I'll kick it up a notch and see if that will help any_. (Which so far it _didn't. Ugh_.)

So when the phone finally rang on the evening of the fifth day, the caller ID flashing 'Frog' in red lettering; Arthur snatched it up without the usual eye rolling and sighs of resentment.

"Hello, frog."

"_Bonjour, mon lapin_!" Francis said cheerfully.

"You've been quiet lately," Arthur noted, immediately regretting his saying so when Francis gave a tinkling laugh.

"Aww_, mon anglaise _ missed me~"

"On the contrary!" Arthur barked irritably. "I was quite enjoying myself in your absence, thank you very much. Why are you calling, anyhow?"

"Oh, I merely felt like wasting a bit of your time, Arthur. It really is a delightful activity."

"If you don't come up with something interesting to say, I'm hanging up," Arthur deadpanned.

"I think we both know that's a lie, _cher_. But I shall attempt to comply. I have been wondering, when is your date with Bella?"

"Should I be telling you that?"

"Yes. We must prepare! My house, tomorrow?"

"Ugh... Fine." Drat, why did seeing Francis all the time feel so normal and... _comfortable_ lately? "Though I assure that I am reasonably confident in talking to Bella without any of your assistance. And I suppose I'll just tell you where our date is so you'll shut up about it. She wanted to go to a restaurant but wasn't sure which one, so I suggested the _Sakura,_ because Kiku says it's good; and we agreed to go there three days from today."

"Ohonhonhon! Glad that you decided to let me help you now, are you not?"

"I still think it was incredibly audacious of you, but I suppose the outcome was good."

"What is Bella like, anyway?" Francis inquired.

"Well, I actually like her a lot. She's intelligent, sane and nice to me. Did you know she's read or seen all of Shakespeare's work? We had a nice discussion about the darker themes in_ Much Ado About Nothing_, specifically the attitudes towards women..." On the other end of the phone line, as Arthur talked on happily about a play that Francis had only seen once (over a century ago and his memory was very fuzzy now), Francis felt a familiar boiling sensation beneath his ribcage. _Merde, c'est la jalouse. _"Why did you bother setting me up with her, though?"

There was a slight pause. "Well, first of all, I was bored."

"Git."

"But you must understand, I do not like seeing you irritable and unhappy... Except for when I am the cause of it, ohonhon. I did it out of the goodness of my heart, Arthur." Arthur was unsure what to say to this.

"You would have been better off just leaving me be," he muttered.

"Oh, Arthur, you are so out of touch with yourself," Francis said cryptically. Arthur didn't know what that meant, so he just sighed. He knew he ought to just hang up already, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to wrench the phone from his ear.

"I find your fascination with other people's sex lives frankly disturbing."

"It is myarea of expertise," Francis said simply. "I must use my knowledge to do good. I find your fascination with attempting to cook frankly disturbing. And I should note that that is _not _your area of expertise."

"You may not like my cooking, but at least I don't_ force _it on people."

They bantered on like this in a rather directionless fashion for no less than three hours. And when Arthur finally got off the phone, he couldn't bring himself to care that he had lost three hours' worth of work.

* * *

AN:

Aw man. It is hard writing oblivious Francis, but it's required for the plot. But even outside this story, I usually imagine him as only semi-aware of his feelings for Arthur. (Much more aware than Arthur, but still not really having come to terms with them. I think he writes off his feelings for Arthur as not serious, or purely sexual).

Well, here is Bella! :D I imagine her as an all-around nice person who likes some similar things as Arthur. Unfortunately, I can't think of any really funny stereotypes for her other than her love for beer, waffles, and fries! If anyone reading this knows some funny Belgian stereotypes, please review so I can try to work them in! I've to write their date next, and I need humorous material! (I'm pretty ignorant when it comes to places like Belgium. It's very American of me~ lol)

Also, Mona=Monaco and Winona = Native America. Native America doesn't get enough love in Hetalia, so I gave her a cameo appearance. I imagine her as a usually calm and wise sort of person, but also as someone can get quite pissy if the right buttons are pushed. (As for Monaco, I just needed another chick. Ffff)

(Elizabeta ships FrUK ;D)

...That telephone scene felt like a filler. :P

Translations

Bad sportsmanship

I would know if I was jealous. I am an authority on these matters. (This... might be wrong. XD)


	5. Chapter 5

"Francis-san, I think we look more suspicious with these disguises than without," said Kiku, who was wearing a ushanka and round glasses frames.

"Nonsense!" Francis laughed. He himself had slicked his hair back into a ponytail and put on a thick scarf and large sunglasses. The two of them were standing outside of the_ Sakura_, a Japanese restaurant in London that Kiku had recommended to Arthur for the occasion on the basis of its food being almost authentic.

"I am going to wait to put these glasses on until after they arrive," Kiku said, taking off the lens-less frames. Francis huffed.

"Fine. Let us go in, then."

They filed into the restaurant and located a booth in the corner with a good view of the rest of the area. With any luck, Arthur and Bella would sit down several tables away, so Francis and Kiku would be able to see Arthur and Bella without Arthur and Bella being able to see Francis and Kiku.

"Francis-san, I am a little uncomfortable with spying on my friend like this," Kiku said.

"Now, now, we discussed this already, _mon petit cher_." (Kiku frowned slightly at being called _petit_. He wasn't any younger than Francis, and in his own country, 5'5" wasn't _that _short.) "We are doing this for Arthur's sake, _non_? We cannot expect him to give me a full or unbiased account of this date afterwards, so I must see it with my own eyes in order to be able to help him. And besides-" his grin became a smirk- "if you do not help, I cannot let you have The Album."

Kiku fidgeted a little. "The Album" referred to a small, but extremely well-done collection of high-quality photographs that featured Alfred sleeping in various places. Of course, Kiku could get his own shots of Alfred when he slept over, but he was absolutely terrified of getting caught- plus, he couldn't shake the sense of impropriety that overtook him whenever he aimed his camera at the American. That, and Francis didn't just have dark, grainy photos of Alfred snoozing in a sleeping bag- he had high quality, pristine images of Alfred sleeping in the grass, Alfred sleeping at meetings, Alfred sleeping with stuffed animals... Kiku knew that Alfred sometimes spent time with Francis, Antonio and Gilbert, but he still couldn't figure out how Francis _got_ some of these pictures. The man must be truly shameless, and unafraid of getting caught red-handed. (Or maybe everyone was so used to Francis's behavior by now that they wouldn't bother taking offense, and Francis knew it.)

"Fine," Kiku mumbled. Francis tittered.

"I knew you would not be able to pass up _ces photos_. You planted the devices?" Francis asked.

"Yes. There is one on Arthur's sleeve- I put it there during my last visit. It will be sufficient to hear both of them." Kiku pulled out a small receiver with two headphone jacks, and two pairs of earbuds. "We will be able to hear everything they are saying through this, and look as though we are merely listening to music."

"Fabulous!" Francis smirked widely. "You are brilliant, _cher_... You should hang out with Gilbert, Antonio _et moi _more often!"

"Ah, it is fine- do not trouble yourself over it!" Kiku said hastily. Francis shrugged, then hurriedly grabbed Kiku's fake glasses and shoved them roughly onto the Japanese man's face as Arthur and Bella entered. Unfortunately, at that moment, a waitress came for their order, and Kiku had to rattle off a few dishes he thought that Francis, who hadn't so much as glanced as the menu, might like. As soon as the woman left, Francis dived for his earbuds. Kiku put his in as well, a great deal more calmly.

"...I haven't had Japanese food many times," Bella said, her voice crackling slightly in transmission.

"Well, Kiku told me this a particularly good place," Arthur said cheerfully.

"I suppose he would know, wouldn't he?" Bella laughed. Francis and Kiku watched her examine the menu from their booth.

"She should try the tempura," Kiku said. "It is a difficult food to dislike."

"Shh!" Francis hissed. They listened with baited breath (well, Francis did) to Bella order a sushi platter and miso.

"Is that significant, Kiku?!" Francis demanded. Kiku raised his eyebrows.

"_Eto_, no. Why would-"

"Hush! I sense Arthur is about to speak!"

And speak he did. "So, what is your stance on Alfred's upcoming elections?"

Kiku heard Francis groan. "What kind of man talks politics on a dinner date?" He lamented.

"If they are both interested, I do not see any problem," Kiku said frankly. And apparently, this was the case; as Bella responded rather enthusiastically.

"He is very lucky I helped him find someone so suited to his eccentricities," Francis boasted with what would have been a flip of his hair, if it hadn't been in a ponytail._ But I thought you took him to a party with single people and he found Bella on his own, _Kiku wanted to say, but he kept it to himself. The Album was at stake here.

Arthur and Bella talked (and, on Arthur's part at least, made fun of) American politics for a few more minutes. Francis made exaggerated gestures of boredom.

The food arrived. Kiku chewed delicately on a seafood salad while Francis left his shrimp shumai nearly untouched. When Bella's sushi was set in front of her, she eagerly tried a piece.

"How do you like it?" Arthur asked Bella as she swallowed.

"It's wonderful!" She smiled and picked up another piece, popping it into her mouth. A few seconds later, however, her expression changed to a sort of grimace.

"What is it?" Arthur asked. Bella placed her hands over her mouth. "Are you okay?"

"Is she...?" Kiku wondered aloud.

Bella made a choking noise, and Arthur jumped out of his seat and ran around to her side of the table, whacking her firmly on the back. Bella breathed in, quickly placing the bit of choked-on sushi in a napkin and folded it up neatly so that it couldn't be seen.

"Thank you," Bella said, looking a little pink from both lack of oxygen and embarrassment. "I know I can't actually die from choking, but I'd have to go through all the motions and it would be an awful bother to fake a hospital visit at the moment..."

"I definitely understand," Arthur said. "Was it the seaweed?"

"Yes, I think so... My apologies. I'll be more careful with the next one," Bella said cheerfully, seeming to have completely recovered herself.

"It was no problem," Arthur laughed.

"Say- would you like to come over to my house sometime in the next week? I'll make you Belgian waffles." She paused. "And you can help, if you like."

"I'd be delighted to! Does Saturday afternoon work?"

"I believe so! Very well, it's a date!"

"Though I think I may pass on helping. I've been told that my cooking is an acquired taste."

"Don't worry. Waffles are not so difficult to learn- I'll teach you!"

"Hmm," said Francis, looking pensive.

"What is it?"

"It is only that their relationship might come to be a bit more serious than I had anticipated."

"Is that bad?" Kiku frowned. The concept of a stable relationship appealed to him more than that of a fling. Surely this was better for Arthur.

"Not necessarily. It might take a bit longer to start, but he will still get plenty of_ l'amour_; which was rather the point of this exercise. But if she dumps him later it may undo everything. Especially if Arthur's attempt at making waffles strains their budding relationship," he sniggered.

Kiku examined Francis's expression carefully, and could tell that there was something more that was bothering the Frenchman about the idea of Arthur being with Bella, but did not think it would be much help to question him any further.

Francis, meanwhile, was remembering a particularly outstanding incident in Arthur's cooking career.

_"May I use your toaster oven to heat up this bagel?" Francis asked. Arthur shrugged. _

_ "Go ahead." Francis popped the bagel into the toaster oven and set it to ten minutes. Inexplicably, Arthur scurried out of the room. When Francis didn't follow, he popped his head back into the kitchen, grabbed Francis's wrist and yanked him out into the dining room; his expression implying that Francis was supposed to know what was going on. Confused, Francis went along with it._

_ "Git," Arthur said, letting go now that they were in the dining room. "Why did you stay in there?"_

_ "Why would I _not _stay there?" Francis asked, utterly confused by this point._

_ "The toaster might have exploded right in front of your face!" said Arthur, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. Francis's jaw dropped in shock._

_ "Your toaster _explodes?!"

_ "Yes. Well, clearly this one hasn't yet, but the other four all either broke or exploded at some point." Arthur paused. "Don't yours?"_

_ Francis burst into laughter. Arthur stared at him as he collapsed into one of the dining room chairs and put his head on the table, guffawing into the oak and banging his fist. When he was finally finished, he sat up and said to Arthur, breathless: "toasters are not supposed to explode, _cher_. You are buying a bad brand." _

_ "What!" Arthur yelped. "Are you serious?!"_

_ "Did you really think it was normal for it to just... blow up?" Francis giggled. Arthur went pink._

_ "I... But I called the company the first time and they just gave me another so I thought..." _

_ "_Mon Dieu!" _Francis was overcome by another fit of laughter. Arthur crossed his arms and looked away._

_ BOOM!_

_ "There it goes," Arthur deadpanned. "Lucky for you, I pulled you out of the room."_

_ Ignoring him, Francis ran into the kitchen to see the damage, curious. The glass on the front of the oven had shattered, and was spread out across the counter and on the floor. _

_ "Wha- Arthur! This is extremely dangerous! _Je ne peux pas croire tu l'as achete_!" He sputtered, turning around. For the first time, having only arrived a few minutes ago; he noticed that Arthur's hands were (rather poorly) bandaged. He grabbed ahold of one of them and held it up for inspection. "When did the last one explode?"_

_ Arthur huffed. "Well, the first one I bought just broke. The second one exploded, but I wasn't anywhere near it at the time. The third one lasted a while, but then it broke just like the first one. So the next time I bought two just in case. The last one exploded two days ago. I was really being careless, and stayed too close to it because I wanted to adjust the timer. I thought the first explosion might have been a fluke." He sighed in annoyance. "This one was my spare. Now I have to find a whole new brand... Bother."_

_ Francis shook his head. "Do not even try. I will simply buy one for you. An idiot-proof one, at that. _Mon Dieu_." He continued looking at Arthur's hands. The bandages were loose and shabby- clumsily applied, since both hands had been burned- and Francis could see the blistered red skin, occasionally littered with cuts from the glass; beneath the dressing._

_ "It's fine," Arthur mumbled uncomfortably._

_ "_Non_. You are terrible at bandaging yourself, so I will reapply the dressings. _Incroyable_," Francis murmured as he led Arthur off to the bathroom to find the first aid kit._

"Francis-san?" Kiku asked. "What it is?"

"Oh, _rien_." Francis laughed. "I was just reminiscing about the time Arthur's toaster exploded."

_I do not get it_, Kiku lamented in his mind.

Over at Arthur and Bella's table, Arthur was lifting up his bag and feeling around in it.

"Just have to find my wallet..." As he continued to search, however; his motions became more and more frantic, and his flustered expression was obvious even from the slightly distant booth at which Francis and Kiku were seated.

"_Mon Dieu_, this could be the end for Arthur," Francis breathed.

"_Wasuremashita_," Kiku observed, pitying his friend.

"I... Er, this is, well, this is embarrassing..." Arthur set his bag on the table and bowed his head a little bit, his ears turning bright red. "I seem to have forgotten my wallet... I am very sorry; I was going to pay for the whole meal, truly!"

"Oh, that's okay! I've got my wallet, so I'll pay. I'm the one who asked you to dinner, and I was planning to go Dutch anyway; so you can just give me your half on Saturday." She smiled kindly and patted Arthur on the shoulder. Francis and Kiku collectively released a breath (one that Kiku hadn't even known he'd been holding).

"So- So that means there's still a Saturday, then?" Arthur said meekly. Bella giggled.

"Of course, silly. Now come along and walk me to my car~"

"He got very lucky, there," Francis said solemnly.

"Indeed. She was not upset at all," Kiku mused as they watch the couple leave.

They waited in the restaurant for another ten minutes to ensure they wouldn't run into Arthur and Bella on the way out, and Francis took the opportunity to eat his (now slightly cold) shrimp shumai.

"May I borrow your audio equipment for Arthur's next date?" Francis asked on the way out.

"I sincerely apologize, Francis-san, but I cannot condone further interference with Arthur-kun's private life," Kiku said as politely as possible. Francis sighed.

"Very well. I suppose since I did promise you The Album, I will not threaten to take it away from you."

_"Domo arigatou gozaimasu_," said Kiku, his relief evident by his tone.

"I will just have to very, very thorough when I teach him about proper kissing, as they will probably encounter that hurdle on their second date." Francis smirked, his mind already overflowing with potential lesson plans. _Ah, si amusant; Arthur_. "Have you ever been kissed, _petit ami_?"

"...No," Kiku said after a pause, hoping he wasn't about to cause anything funny to happen. Francis had never flirted with Kiku all that often, but the Japanese man had heard all the stories. To his relief (and also mild irritation), Francis merely patted him on the head.

"_Ohonhonhon_, _tu es très mignon_! Oh, and _mon petit_?"

_ Here we go with _petit _again_, Kiku sighed mentally. "Yes, Francis-san?"

"Do not worry yourself too much about Alfred's feelings. We all know he has _un massif_ soft spot for you." Francis chuckled. Kiku blushed deeply, muttered a goodbye, and hurried off.

* * *

AN: Hey! I thought the last chapter was a little boring so I decided to upload this one early. I changed around the plot a bit so that more stuff happens- this entire chapter, and most of the ones that will follow, would not have been included otherwise. This meant taking out a pretty important scene from the last chapter and saving it until much closer to the end of the story.

I'd like to see Francis and Kiku do something together in the manga/anime. I have a feeling it would be very funny. XD

I used to choke on my sushi all the time. For a while I just stopped ordering it because it was awkward to nearly asphyxiate every time I went to a Japanese restaurant. XD I've since figured it out, though.

The toaster event came from seeing a comment on a youtube video that went something like 'I'm British and I broke my toaster trying to make toast'. A bit of googling revealed a story about a particular brand of toaster oven that would sometimes actually explode. O.O This might be completely made up, of course; but this is all fiction anyway so I just put it in. :3

Finally, I noticed I got some follows and favorites for the last chapter, which is awesome, but I only got one review as opposed to the other chapters, which got at least 3-5. I'd hate to be one of those authors that whines in the AN every chapter about how they need reviews to be able to function and whatnot, but I'd just like to say: if you didn't like the chapter, please let me know why so I can improve it! Thanks :3 (By the way, I don't want to make anyone feel bad for not reviewing... I completely understand forgetting to review stuff, lol.)

Translations:

Incroyable - unbelievable

Wasuremashita - (he) forgot (it)

Mignon - cute

P.S. My next update may not get done for a few weeks- it hasn't been written out yet, and I'm going on vacation the week of the 20th to a cabin in the woods that will most likely not have internet. :P


	6. Chapter 6

"So, Arthur," said Francis, as he leaned back in his chair confidently. They were sitting across from one another in Francis's spacious study. It was sparsely and elegantly furnished, yet there was still some level of disorganization to it, much like the rest of Francis's home- there were a couple of nice chairs, a small couch (on which Arthur sat), a cluttered desk with a computer, a large window, and a whiteboard. A few post-its littered the floor here and there, little reminders written in cursive French. Nearby sat a small table in the corner on which an arrangement of flowers sat prettily in a glass vase. Arthur found himself wondering how Francis might have acquired them. "How was the date?"

"I think it went well," Arthur said thoughtfully. "It's really easy to talk to her, so we had no trouble making conversation. I saved her from choking on her sushi- I guess that probably won me points, because soon after we made a second date." He could not help but smile with pride at his success.

"_Bien, bien_!" Francis said, feigning enthusiasm while waiting for Arthur to man up to the wallet incident.

"Although..." Arthur turned a little pink and stared at his knees. "I forgot my wallet, so I have to pay her back on the second date."

"Well,_ il faut dit_, Arthur, that you lucky to still have a second date after that _faux pas_," Francis snorted, pretending that this was news to him. "But she forgave you?"

"Yes, I think so..." Arthur muttered.

"So we shall move on to preparing for your second date to make up for it," Francis said excitedly. "And the most important thing for the second date is kissing!"

"Oh bollocks," said Arthur. Francis ignored him, jumping out of his chair and over to the whiteboard. He grabbed a red dry-erase marker off his desk and began to write something on the board.

When he moved away, the words "Sexual Tension" stood out, in bright red cursive, on the white board. Arthur sighed.

"Sexual tension is an absolute necessity for _un bien baiser_," said Francis. "It will turn even the most chaste peck into a deeply passionate gesture."

"How very magical," Arthur said boredly.

"At the center of sexual tension is anticipation. You must make Bella anticipate your kiss well in advance of its arrival on her lips. There are many ways to do this. Often, I simply say, "_tu es si belle, je t'embrasserai ce soir_."

"Do stop with the French, please."

"Arthur, stop pretending you did not understand what I just said. You and I have been all too familiar with one another for upwards of a thousand years, have we not?"

"French to me is like Alfred's bastardization of English. Just because I understand it, doesn't mean I want to hear it," Arthur deadpanned.

"You are impossible, but I will go along with you; if only to get to my point faster. Anyway: I often like to say on the first or second date, 'you are so pretty, I will kiss you tonight.' It leaves them waiting with baited breath for the eventual kiss, so that when they finally receive it, it means so much more to them. It is sort of like how absence makes the heart grow fonder. You simply have to induce the absence. Just remember that sexual tension is no replacement for proper technique," Francis added quickly. "But I will go over _that_ in due time."

Arthur had a bad feeling about the way Francis stated this.

"Since you are not really the type to announce something like that, though; you will have to convey the idea of a kiss to Bella in a more subtle way. This can be done through the following methods:" He popped the cap off of his red marker again and began writing on the white board again.

"You never really struck me as the type to have much use for a whiteboard," Arthur commented.

"What can I say? It goes with the decor, and it was half off." Francis stepped away to reveal his writing. It said:

-Casual touching- pat her on the arm, the "stretch", guide her hands or limbs if given the opportunity, etc.

-Words or phrases that instill thoughts of amourous activities. Use the word 'kiss' in an expression, etc.

-Compliments- her perfume is nice, tell her her hair looks so soft, etc.

-Challenges- gentle teasing, basically challenge her to get a kiss from you

"What the fuck is the stretch?" Arthur asked. In response, Francis got up out of his chair and sat down beside him on the couch.

"It boggles my mind that you have not already heard of it, but I will humor you." He stretched up his arms as if, well, stretching them out, and then laid them across the couch so that one arm was behind Arthur.

"Oh. You could have just told me that." Francis sniggered.

"It is much less amusing that way. But there is another variant of the stretch, which is a lot more difficult to explain in words, so I will simply demonstrate it." Francis moved his arms back to his sides. "Pay close attention, because much of this will be relevent later on the lesson." Arthur felt a bit apprehensive at Francis's vagueness, but decided to just get it over with.

Francis stretched out his arms, faked a long yawn, then turned around sharply and positively dived for Arthur's face; gripping his cheeks with both hands and smashing their lips together.

"MMPH!" Said Arthur, flailing his arms about in shock and disorientation. Francis released him a few seconds later, grinning.

"What in the- bloody- what- why- I don't- how- BOTHER!" Arthur sputtered, face hot.

"Hmm. You appear to have lost the ability to form coherent sentences," Francis noted teasingly.

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?" Arthur yelped shrilly, balling his hands into fists. Francis shrugged.

"Merely an educational demonstration, _mon cher_. Nothing to lose sleep over." How could he be so damn_ casual_?

Arthur would be lying, though, if he said that this was the first time Francis had kissed him. He had been kissed on the cheek or the head many times by the affectionate man (who knew how much it flustered Arthur). And quite recently, Arthur had received CPR from Francis during an incident involving alien invaders, a space ship and a rather deep bit of ocean (but that's a story for another day). The last time he'd recieved a proper kiss on the lips from Francis had been during the Victorian period- Arthur had been doing his best to behave appropriately (and, to be honest, having a bit of difficulty). Francis had laughed at his 'stuffyness', and kissed him as a way of teasing him about it. Well before that, there had been a time during the 13th or 14th century when Arthur had woken up to find his mouth being invaded by Francis after wandering off and falling asleep in a meadow where the Frenchman had happened roaming about.

And then there was Arthur's first kiss, which also belonged to Francis. They were both quite young at the time, and had been hanging around in the woods one evening when Arthur asked Francis what a kiss was. Arthur had heard the farmer's daughters giggling about it, but he couldn't make out what it was, exactly. Francis had been more than happy to show him.

Unsurprisingly, when it came time for Arthur to wonder about what sex was all about, he decided to ask Siobhan about it instead. She made fun of him, of course; but utilized "tell" rather than "show", which was a step up from Francis's methods.

"You can't just... _kiss _people like that!" Arthur sputtered lamely.

"But I just did, ohonhonhon~" Arthur put his head in his hands and did his best to take deep breaths. Why was his heart pounding so quickly? Francis was just being a frog, that was all. The kiss was rude and infuriating, sure, but it really shouldn't get Arthur all hot and bothered like this.

"I should kick you square in that bloody French face of yours right now," said Arthur, his voice muffled by his fingers.

"Arthur, you really ought to get used to my face, because you are going to be practicing on it for the rest of the lesson."

"Give me one good reason why I should!" Arthur shouted. "I know how to kiss just fine! I'm no virgin, you know that-"

"_Mais, _I bet none of your prior partners gave you any feedback," Francis said, "and as I recall, none of them ever lasted long-"

"I don't recall ever _expecting_ many of them to last long. I was young and experimental," Arthur grumbled.

"Fine, whatever. But I am _not_ about to let you go on a date without getting practice in."

"But wouldn't it be cheating on Bella?" Arthur said, convinced that this would win the argument.

"Of course not! You are only improving the experience for her." Francis smirked. "Now kiss me. Closed-mouth will do."

"Bloody hell," Arthur muttered. Before he could put his head back in his hands, however, Francis leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the lips again.

"It is really easy, Arthur. The sooner you just do it, the sooner we will be done with today's session." Francis's smile slid into a smirk. "Or perhaps you really are no good at kissing, and you do not want to reveal your weakness?"

"I'm a fine kisser, thank you very much," Arthur fumed, growing red in the face.

"And I ought to believe you why?" Francis shifted on the couch so he was facing Arthur more, and leaned back casually.

"Look, like I said, I do have experience. I'm not some schoolgirl who's never been kissed before, for pity's sake."

"Then why will you not simply prove it to me?"

"Because _I don't want to kiss you_! It's... Well, frankly, the idea repulses me! I don't see why that is so difficult for you to understand!" Arthur crossed his arms and glared across the couch at Francis, who still had that stupid smirk on his face, clearly unfazed by Arthur's criticism.

"I think I understand it just fine, _cher_," said Francis smoothly. "You are poor kisser and do not want to embarrass yourself."

"Oh, sod it!" Arthur shouted, before gripping Francis's face with both hands and kissing him.

To Arthur's continued horror, it was, just like all the other times they'd kisses, far from being an unpleasant experience. Very... far. Francis's lips were soft and warm, just like they'd always been, and Arthur once again had to remind himself that this was _Francis_ _he was kissing, _for fuck's sake, and he absolutely needed to stop _right now _because the whole idea of kissing Francis was (_supposed to be_) repulsive. Naturally.

Gross. Right. Arthur made a show of wiping his mouth off on his sleeve when he was finished.

"A bit aggressive for a first kiss," said Francis mildly. "Try it again and make it gentler."

"No. One is all you're getting," Arthur said irritably, crossing his arms.

"Then be sure to pay close attention now." Before Arthur could protest, Francis cupped his face with one hand and kissed him tenderly. Arthur found himself paralyzed, unable to pull away. Francis's hand felt marvelous against his burning hot cheek, and before Arthur knew it, he was leaning into the touch, just a little. When he realized what he was doing, however, he pulled away quickly.

"ENOUGH WITH THE BLOODY KISSING!" He shouted.

"Alright, fine, calm down," Francis said airily. "As long as you gleaned something from that last kiss, we are done with techniques for now."

Arthur, trembling with rage (at least, that was what he told himself) excused himself to go 'rinse out his mouth in the bathroom'. Francis chuckled as the Englishman stormed off. Even though he had started to feel a bit possessive of Arthur, which was odd, these lessons were incredibly entertaining, and he did not want to give them up any time soon.

* * *

Translations

Il faut dit - it must be said

Baiser - kiss (I think, there were several words and I couldn't figure out which was more appropriate)

Mais - but

About to run off to the woods for vacation in literally about 20 minutes. It's a little rough I may edit the chapter when I get back, but I wanted to get it up in the meantime so my lovely followers wouldn't have to wait a week. :3 Thanks, guys!


	7. Chapter 7

Still feeling a bit rattled from his time spent with Francis a few days ago, Arthur shifted on the balls of his feet as he waited at Bella's door with a bouquet.

"Hi, Arthur!" Bella said cheerfully as she threw open the door. She smiled at him casually, which made Arthur feel a little more comfortable. He held out the bouquet, which Bella accepted with a widening of her grin and a 'thank you', and Arthur followed her into the house.

Contrary to Francis's predictions (hopes?), Arthur's failures at cooking did not strain their relationship. Bella merely found it endearing, and didn't seem to have a problem with needing to watch Arthur like a four-year-old in order to make sure he didn't burn the waffles or forget to put in salt or something. They were developing some good inside jokes by the time the food was done, and soon they sat across from one another at Bella's table, chatting idly and eating. Somehow, they got onto the topic of hair. Bella asked Arthur if he had ever grown his longer than it was now.

"I tried to once, when I was quite young. It was to spite Francis because he was parading around with his own long hair and being a prat. I was awfully committed to the idea, in fact; but English society at the time was rather... _averse_ to long hair on men. Naturally, when I finally did manage to grow it out, it looked absolutely hideous." Arthur took another bite out of the waffle as Bella giggled a little. "Then Francis trimmed it for me, but he cut it so that I looked like him. I couldn't stand for that, of course, so I told him to cut it differently. He just trimmed it back to how it had been before; said it suited me- a veiled insult, since he had just been teasing me about how unexceptional it was when I first decided to grow it out. I was furious. I really did go to a lot of trouble for that hair." Arthur smiled unwittingly at the memory.

"You and Francis must have spent a lot of time together," Bella said with a subtle smile. "What with your countries being practically contiguous." Arthur silently applauded her use of the English language in that sentence.

_I bet Francis would never say 'contiguous,' should he ever deign to speak English._

"Yes, unfortunately," said Arthur.

"And you still have the same rivalry as when you were young?"

"Well, yes, I suppose. Throughout history there have been incidences when our bosses have decided it's high time we kissed and made up, but the moment they turned their backs we'd just start fighting again." Arthur mentally applauded himself for managing to casually drop the word 'kiss'. (The significance of how the word was used in relation to Francis would not be apparent to Arthur for quite some time).

"How cute," Bella laughed. She paused, and grinned coyly. "You," she observed, "have got a bit of icing on your lip." And with that, she walked around the table and kissed him.

_Oh, alright, I suppose I don't have to worry about that anymore then_, was Arthur's first thought as he stood up to kiss her properly.

Then, _based on the evidence I gathered on Thursday, Francis would have gone for tongue by now, the slimy git. Also, the angle would be different because- wait, what?_

Arthur promptly decided to pretend that Francis's kiss hadn't just popped into his head and focused on making out with Bella.

* * *

The waffle date was followed by another date the next Saturday. And then, three days later, they went to see a film. Not long after that, they went out to dinner again at an Italian restaurant.

Francis looked on with bemusement and a bit of irritation.

To start, Arthur and Bella were off to a much less casual beginning than Francis had anticipated. They were doing things like having nice dinners out and baking for one another- and they hadn't taken the horizontal yet. Francis couldn't think of many long-term relationships between the other personafications that were spawned by a series of dates; most of them had arisen out of political or wartime circumstances in centuries past or from becoming friends or allies and then sort of falling together, but times were changing, and he supposed there must be a first time for everything.

Francis continued to give Arthur pointers on such things as how often to give Bella flowers and how to unhook a bra with one hand (something Arthur had never mastered, and, by the looks of it, would never master), but it didn't feel quite right. Francis briefly considered the possibility that he might have developed some sort of attraction to Bella, but he felt no spark at the thought of her and there was truly no previous evidence to back up that hypothesis. And there was no way he was attracted to Arthur, right? The Brit had surely had other partners in the past, and the idea had never bothered Francis. Not to mention the glaringly obvious fact their relationship had always been one of rivalry.

Of course, Francis couldn't remember ever having been aware of Arthur being in a relationship during the time said relationship was taking place.

Francis was ruminating along this particular train of thought when the phone rang, the caller ID flashing Arthur's name.

"_Bonjour_, Arthur."

"Hello, git. Here, I'm letting you know the date went just fine tonight and we made out for a satisfactory amount of time afterwards. Is my obligation fulfilled?"

Oh, right. He'd told Arthur he had to call after the Italian restaurant date and let him know how it went.

"_Super, super_," Francis said distractedly.

"And we made another one. We're going to have dinner in her hotel room after the next World Meeting," Arthur continued, blissfully ignorant of Francis's internal unrest.

"That's in Beijing, isn't it?" Francis asked, processing the meaning of what Arthur had just said. A hotel room. This probably meant they were finally going to have sex.

"Er, yes."

"Good, that's, ah, good. I'm afraid I am not available any time between now and then, so if you have a question you will simply have to call or text," Francis added as an afterthought.

"Finally, some peace and quiet, then," said Arthur. "I'll see you at the meeting then, I suppose. Bye." And he hung up. Francis stared at the phone for a second, in something like a daze, before doing the same.

Quite suddenly, he was reminded of a conversation he had once had with Gilbert and Antonio. Well, he'd actually had it more than once, but this particular incidence seemed to stand out, perhaps because it took place the night before a world meeting.

Antonio and Gilbert had been in Antonio's room eating chips and disheveling the furniture. They were in the middle of a high-stakes arm wrestling match atop the table when Francis waltzed in.

"_Bonjour, mes amis. Ca va?_"

"I don't know about small-biceps over here, but I am AWESOME!" Gilbert roared as he finally won the match. Antonio looked sheepish, but gave Francis a cheerful wave.

"_Hola_, Francis."

"So, what sort of rabble-rousing should we do at this meeting?" Francis inquired, settling down into an armchair next to the bed.

"I don't know," Antonio said thoughtfully. "I was thinking it would be better to save it for next time, since Ludwig is hosting next. Tino gives up much too soon when it comes to maintaining order."

"As much as I hate to put off our plans, I have to agree with Antonio," Gilbert seconded. "Just try to be as obnoxious as possible at the meeting for me."

"But that means you have to stay here and do nothing all day," Francis objected. Gilbert shrugged.

"I already knew that was going to happen. I'll just watch TV or play video games or something. Or sleep in. Then I'll hang with you guys afterwards." Despite his offhanded way of saying this, Gilbert looked a little sad; an uncommon expression for the patently obnoxious man.

"What's getting you down,_ mi amigo_?" Antonio said, a concerned expression on his face. "Trust me, you're not missing out on anything by not attending these meetings-"

"That's not it. The meetings are stupid." Gilbert sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"Spit it out then, _cher_," said Francis.

"It's Lizzie." Gilbert went a little pink. He reached out and began to fiddle with a hotel flyer lying on the table, opening and closing it.

"Oh dear," Antonio sighed.

"She just doesn't seem to want to be around me anymore," Gilbert said softly as his shoulders slumped a little. He dropped the flyer back on the table. "I don't get it. We used to be so close. Then she started hanging around with Roderich," he spat, his voice growing loud again.

"Are they back together again?" Francis asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Oh, are they ever," Gilbert said glumly to the flyer. "Whenever we do hang out, all she talks about is how they've 'rediscovered one another' or some typical Roderich-related drivel." Antonio patted him on the back. "I don't even know how she can stand to be around him. All he's ever done is make her feel like she's not good enough the way she is. She thinks she has to change for him. Before she met that prick, she wouldn't have worn a corset for all the treasure in the world." He sighed again. "But we were _so close_, you know?_ I _was so close." Gilbert got a faraway look in his eyes as he trawled his memories.

Francis and Antonio were silent, letting Gilbert run his course of gloom. There was nothing to be said that hadn't already been said at one point or another. For all his uninhibited and free-spirited behavior, Gilbert seemed to be permanently stuck on Elizabeta.

Francis had mulled this notion over as he lay in bed that night, listening to the faint sound of traffic on the roads of Helsinki. To be so in love with someone, for so long; and then to lose them to someone else because you were too chicken to suck it up and realize that _well damn it, I need this person_. Because you stalled, and settled for a platonic, friendly relationship that in the end was not enough for neither you nor them.

Well, that certainly was never going to happen to him because he was Francis Bonnefoy and he was in touch with all of_ his _feelings and was perfectly capable and indeed quite happy to broadcast every one of them. He'd have to remember to warn _petit_ Kiku about the dangers of procrastination in romance, though. (You'd think all that _doujinshi_ would have taught Kiku a thing or two, but the man was hopeless.)

As Francis leaned back in his chair, two years later, he looked back on those thoughts and wondered if perhaps he had been wrong.

* * *

AN: So sorry I took a while to update, and that it's a little on the short side! I've been having a bit of an idea block- I know I need to get from point A to point B, but then there was a point C and now I'm not entirely sure where point B is, anyway, so I'm kind of nerfing around a bit here... So, uh, yeah, have some confused Francis and awkward PruHun.

School is starting in less than a week now, so pretty soon I'm going to be pretty busy with soccer, writing essays, not to mention studying for the PSAT, SAT, AP... Gross. As a result updates could be quite spread out, but I will try to work on this during school breaks and in my free time!

Thank you for reading! :)


	8. Chapter 8

As promised, the next week Arthur traveled to attend a world meeting in Beijing.

After the irritatingly long journey, Arthur checked into the designated hotel and threw his bags into his room before proceeding to collapse onto the hotel bed, suit and all. He thanked God that the next meeting was scheduled to be held in Berlin, considerably closer to home. Then he thanked God again that this meeting would not start until tomorrow morning.

Not even five minutes had passed before Arthur's blissful state of relaxation came to an end the moment he started wondering what room Francis was in and if there was any chance they would run into one another before the meeting. Arthur scowled. Why did he expend watts and watts of brain electricity thinking random thoughts about that stupid frog? And _worrying_, of all things, about whether he was okay and had made it to the hotel in one piece? Which was stupid and irrational anyway because _of course _Francis was okay; he couldn't just develop cancer or get into an accident and die like most people. He couldn't even die if his plane fell into the bloody ocean. And there Arthur went, thinking about it even more. _Bother. _

_No no no, I shall refuse to leave this hotel room so as to ensure I _never_ run into him_, Arthur thought miserably, rolling over so that he was lying face down on the vaguely detergent-scented hotel bed blanket.

* * *

The meeting started out as all world meetings generally do. Yao did a presentation in the current state of things in China. Stupid questions were asked, and equally stupid answers were given.

Feliciano fell asleep, his head on the oval table, about forty-five minutes into the meeting, earning a perplexed and slightly dreamy stare from Ludwig across him. Kiku, rather uncharacteristically, got a spacy look on his face while watching Alfred doodle in his meeting notes. Ivan looked admiringly at Yao.

Normally, Francis would have picked up on a great deal of this- it was his area of expertise, after all- but today he was off his game. He was too busy paying attention to any signs that might indicate how Arthur felt about Bella, and he watched the Englishman like a hawk from the moment Bella entered the room. He kept thinking about what Gilbert had said the night before.

So far, though, Arthur had only given Bella a friendly smile and wave at the beginning of the meeting, and then returned to scribbling madly in his notes.

Francis's chain of thought was interrupted when Yao announced that they were to split into groups of two and discuss at least two pieces of good and two pieces of bad news from their respective countries. Francis glanced about for Antonio, but he was already busy trying to convince Lovino to pair up with him, who in turn was trying to convince Feliciano _not_ to pair up with Ludwig. Bella was with Elizabeta, and soon it appeared that Francis had two choices: Yong Soo or Arthur. He picked Arthur, who sighed but complied.

They discussed things like the economy and couple of hopeful statistics for a few minutes before growing bored and harrassing one another.

"It must be hard to concentrate when-"

"Bloody hell, frog, will you shut up about my date already? She's going to hear you, for fuck's sake," Arthur hissed, glancing sideways at Bella, who was giggling in response to something Elizabeta had said.

"Have you talked to her yet today?" Francis leaned back in his chair a little and raised an eyebrow at Arthur, who rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I have, actually. We talked about the declining state of modern literature-"

"Boring," Francis deadpanned. Arthur fumed.

"For all your pompous declarations of culture, you sure are quick to judge things as dull."

"My culture is interesting,_ cher_. Yours is not," Francis said simply. "But we are getting away from the point."

They were interrupted by Yao's voice over the microphone up front, telling them it was time to move on to climate change presentations. There was a collective groan and series of headdesks and facepalms. No one doubted the existence of climate change, but everyone doubted the abilities of their respective superiors to deal with it.

Having worked with him just minutes ago, Francis found himself chair-to-chair on Arthur's left side. Alfred got up to do his powerpoint on his idea involving the mass production of ice cubes, and Francis watched Arthur go from taking half-hearted notes ("carbon footprint of production any help it may provide. Idiot") to sketching fairies and wizards in his notebook. The drawings weren't anything special (certainly not of Feliciano's caliber), but they were pretty good in a neat and tidy-looking sort of way.

A few minutes later, as Roderich started his talk about proper insulation and retrofitting, Arthur's pencil stopped moving and he leaned back in his chair with a contagious yawn. Francis caught the yawn within 30 seconds and began to stare dreamily at the exit sign over the door, vaguely hoping the fire alarm would go off. When that got old, he passed time by picturing Roderich in his underwear.

Then Francis felt a pressure on his shoulder. He looked down.

To Francis's great surprise, Arthur had nodded off and in doing so had laid his head on Francis's shoulder. Arthur was a little shorter than Francis (by less than an inch, but Francis never let Arthur forget it), and his slightly slumped position allowed him to lean his head comfortably against his seatmate. Francis stared down at Arthur as he breathed slowly and peacefully, his chest rising and falling and his mouth slightly open.

This wasn't the alcohol-induced, passed-out-before-his-eyelids-are-closed sleep that Francis saw most often from Arthur. This was an innocent and peaceful sleep.

Francis was aware of a few surprised looks from those who weren't doodling or already asleep themselves, but he could not bring himself to shrug Arthur off. Hell, he couldn't even stop looking down at him. Occasionally, Arthur would shift slightly, so that his cheek was in more contact with Francis's shirt; or he would sigh suddenly, or shiver a little. Sometimes Francis saw his large eyebrows rise, or his nose scrunch up in a brief expression.

_Comment est-ce que j'expliquerais_? Francis was wondering to himself when Arthur jerked up right suddenly with a yawn, apparently under the impression he had simply been napping in his seat and unaware of the fact that that seconds ago he had been leaning on Francis.

Francis suddenly realized that his cheeks felt weirdly hot. Could he be... blushing? _Seriously? _It had been a long time since anything had caused him to blush. He didn't think he had blushed so hard since the 10th century, when young Arthur had given him a four-leaf clover and said that it was good luck. Once Francis had recovered himself enough to turn up his nose and snort at the notion, Arthur had scowled and told him loftily that big sister Siobhan said it was true and she was an expert on this sort of thing; and then they were throwing punches at one another and rolling around in the grass. (Which was the way most of their conversations ended back then.) But Arthur never asked for the clover back.

(Francis did eventually meet Siobhan. He said, "I do not have four leaves, but if you kiss me I shall bring you luck!" She punched him in the face.)

"Francis?" Francis jumped.

"Ah... _Oui_?"

"Are you alright? You look a bit funny" Arthur asked, completely casual.

"But of course!_ Je suis tres bon, tres bon_!" Francis laughed nervously, running his fingers through his hair. Arthur raised one bushy eyebrow and started sketching again.

_Merde_...

* * *

As Francis had predicted, Bella initiated a snogging session within 10 minutes of her and Arthur finishing their meal.

Arthur leaned into her lips without objection, determined to lose himself in their soft invitations if that was what it took to get his nagging mind to shut the fuck _up_. Bella snaked an arm around his waist, and Arthur reached up to card a hand through her a blonde mop. It was feather-soft, and Arthur found his fingers curling into a fist. Bella made a noise of approval and pried his lips open with a skillful flick of her tongue. Arthur responded with enthusiasm, and Bella took that as an invitation to draw back, grab Arthur by the collar of his new white shirt and fling him deftly onto the hotel bed. She then proceeded to straddle him, and they continued to kiss.

Arthur closed his eyes and reached for her hair again. Bella tasted like chocolate and pastries, and the closer he got, the more he was overwhelmed familiar scents of flour and baking bread. Instinctively, he pulled her down further so that their waists could periodically touch. With his eyes shut, he could imagine that they weren't making out on a hotel bed that smelled like detergent and fabric, but instead on the floor of a kitchen, with his shoulder blades pressed back against the fashionably tiled floor and some ridiculous batch of pastries; he didn't know what kind, probably croissants or something, cooking in some equally ridiculous overly expensive contraption behind them. Bella shoved a hand under his shirt while continuing to do some sort of gymnastic move with her mouth, and Arthur let out a moan he was only barely aware of. His eyes flashed open briefly, and for a split second his gaze was met by coy deep-blue eyes, pupils blown wide.

Then, after a couple minutes of going on in that fashion, Bella straightened up to unzip her dress, apparently planning to strip to her underwear and smiling down at Arthur mischievously as she did so.

Arthur blinked.

Her eyes were green, weren't they?

So, whenever he had caught a glimpse of them during their kisses, why had he been thinking _what a lovely shade of blue_?

Why in the bloody...

"This is okay, right?" Bella asked, looking a little concerned. Her dress was now lying on the floor, and her matching white lace bra and panties were showcased. Arthur blinked back his thoughts.

"Absolutely," he said. Then, resolved to defy his previous vision, he rolled her over so that he was on top of her, and kissed her all the more ferociously, this time giving her breast (he seemed to have forgotten it was there) a squeeze while she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.

* * *

Despite his best efforts, Arthur was losing steam. He didn't get it. He had been hard as anything not 5 minutes ago, but now he wasn't sure if he could get it up in time for Bella, who seemed to be under the impression that she was going to get laid tonight.

Both of their shirts were long gone, and now Bella was reaching for the zipper on his trousers. Her fingers fluttered slightly, however, when she found that Arthur was... well... not exactly straining to escape them.

Found out, Arthur sat back on his knees, palming a hand to his forehead in embarrassment. What was he supposed to do now? Bella shifted onto her elbows.

"You okay?"

"I... Sorry. I'm just, um." He felt himself flushing a deep red. Bollocks. How was he supposed to explain this?_ I'm sorry I can't fuck you tonight, as I apparently have a fetish for blue eyes and kitchens?_

"Look, it's okay," Bella said. She didn't sound angry, just a bit disappointed (and really, who could blame her?). "It's not a big deal. You're giving me blue balls, but I'll forgive you. Maybe it's just jet lag catching up to you, I'm a little tired myself." She hopped off the bed, apparently not self-conscious in the slightest despite being in her knickers in front of someone who had just failed to get it up for her. "I'm going to take a shower, you sleep."

* * *

.

I felt I should credit the source, though these are a bit horrendous. I'm totally not responsible for any injuries incurred through the use of these pick up lines.

ARRRGHHH GUYS I'M SORRY I GOT HIT WITH SO MUCH WORK AND MY INSPIRATION WENT DOWN THE DRAIN

ALSO I STARTED WATCHING SUPERNATURAL AND THAT WAS A _VERY BAD IDEA_

here have a lime borne of my stress and 16 year old girl sexual frustration

it probably sucks because I am a giant virgin who's only read a bit of porn (mostly of the homosexual variety hack cough)

it was... enjoyable... to write

*flies away into the sun*


	9. Stuff about this story

I'm terribly sorry to do this to you guys, but I don't know if I can continue this story.

It's past midnight so bear with me here~

The fact is, I don't know anything about anything when it comes to romance and comedy and I've pretty much been writing by the seat of my pants this whole time.

I've matured a lot in the past few months and thus become very unsatisfied with the quality of my writing on this site, as well as the quality of my behavior and diction on this site, other sites, and, well, every facet of my life, really. I've been spring cleaning and clearing out as many things as I can.

Furthermore, I've had a bad year. I hated my classes for the first time in a long time, hated my classmates for the first time in a long time, and had my heart pretty much broken for the first time (at the very least I came close).

I may pick it up again some time when I get a clue, but for now I'm going to have to bow out. I know I am promised this wouldn't happen and I'm very sorry about that. Have a nice day and I hope you will find better writing to entertain to you :)


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